


Just a One Time Thing

by a_calipygian



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Blow Jobs, Connor is Connor but slutty and human, Everyone Is Gay, Gavin is Gavin, Hand Jobs, Hank and Gavin are idiots, Hank is Hank, Hook-Up, Human AU, M/M, One Night Stands, Party, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Romance, Sex, cole is alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 23:10:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17334143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_calipygian/pseuds/a_calipygian
Summary: It isn’t exactly a secret that Hank Anderson has made some pretty bad decisions through the course of his life. And tonight, in a fancy-ass hotel in the middle of Chicago surrounded by his superiors and work colleagues, it looks like he’s about to make one more.





	Just a One Time Thing

**Author's Note:**

> A young man and a much older man were staying in a room together after the night of a party at the hotel I work at. They walked past me awkwardly when checking out in the morning and my brain just assumed that they were father and son, and then I went in to clean up their room and discovered that really wasn’t the case. It inspired this garbage. If the guys I cleaned up after are reading this, you owe me a fucking tip. 
> 
> I wrote this with my dick and I'm not sorry.

“Fuck these stupid parties,” Gavin Reed mutters for only the seven-hundredth time tonight as he tugs at the collar of his dress shirt, trying and failing to make it any less tight around his neck, “and fuck Fowler for making us come here. A party ain’t a party if the people are boring and the whiskey tastes like piss.”

Hank frowns down into the tumbler glass of brown liquid in his hands, nose wrinkling at the thought of taking another drink. Gavin, for all his complaining, isn’t wrong. It does taste like shit. “Tell me about it.”

He narrowly avoids yet another onslaught of drunken people stumbling their way to the dance floor, red-faced and giddy from the alcohol they’ve undoubtedly consumed at the evening’s open bar. Hank’s feeling a little flushed himself, to be perfectly honest, having taken full advantage of the free drinks on offer – especially after realising how fucking boring the other guests are. Though he might be switching back to beer now he’s tasted the piss-poor excuse whiskey.

“I don’t understand why we gotta be social with all these fuckers anyway, they’ve gotta give the department money regardless of how chummy we are.”

“It makes Jeff look good, that’s why,” Hank grumbles, depositing his glass on a passing waiter’s tray and trading it for a prosecco instead, “makes them want to give us more money. And fuck knows we need it, my computers been bloody useless these past two months.”

Gavin folds his arms stubbornly over his chest, the grimace on his face ever-present. “Whatever. Still just a fuckin’ waste of time if you ask me.”

Hank can’t disagree with that, despite how much he knows the department needs the funding. He’d much rather be at home right now than trying to blend in with all these fucking schmoozers and posh twats. He and Cole would usually be on the sofa watching a film by now, with Sumo somewhere between them taking up all the room, trying and failing to get the kid asleep before his bedtime. It’s mundane and pretty standard daily procedure, but hell if it isn’t Hank’s favourite part of the day.

But instead, he’s here, cramped into some fancy hotel ballroom in the middle of Chicago, suffocating in a suit he hasn’t worn in years, putting up with only Gavin fucking Reed for company. Worse than that, he’s had to leave Cole at his mother’s for the night, and as much as he knows the kid has gotta see his mum from time to time, just seeing her face has made his mood plummet for the evening.

He lifts his champagne to his lips and finishes it in three significant gulps.  

Gavin cranes his head towards the crowd from beside him suddenly, and Hank doesn’t see the smirk on his face until it’s too late. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer, old man. Check it out, 3’o clock.”

Hank turns his head as instructed, more out of curiosity than anything else. As much as he’s sure Gavin’s just reading whatever he’s seen wrong, he can’t help but be a little intrigued. It’s nice to have an admirer every so often, especially when you’re a fifty-something-single-dad-Lieutenant with not many other options, and sometimes it’s nice to just admire the eye candy anyway.

What he does see, however, leaves him feeling a little winded.

The admirer in question does, in fact, have his gaze trained on Hank’s form from where he stands just a little way across the room, dark eyes visible and glistening from the room’s disco ball, brunette hair styled perfectly save for a single flyway across his forehead, and a dark blue suit that fits and hugs his curves and puts Hank’s scruffy brown jacket to shame.

He’s also, as Hank notices rather quickly, a good thirty years younger at least, and Hank feels like a dirty old pervert for the way his mouth begins to water upon spotting him.

The guy smirks at him when Hank finally makes eye contact, thoroughly surveying him up and down in return before bringing his glass to his lips with a wink, and turning back to whatever conversation he was previously involved in.

Hank proceeds to die a little on the spot and scolds the traitor in his pants for the thrum of arousal he feels from just that one fucking wink.

“Hot,” Gavin observes next to him, nodding approvingly as he does his own scan of the guy, “you should go talk to him.”

Hank scoffs, pointedly, suddenly desperate to find the waiter with the drinks again, “Fat chance.”

“Why the fuck not? He’s obviously interested.”

“He’s obviously delusional. It’s too bloody dark in here, he don’t know what he’s starin’ at.”

Hank, blessedly, finds the waiter carrying the champagne glasses around and pries not one, but two glasses from his tray. Gavin holds his hand out for one, but Hank makes a point to keep both to himself.

“Besides, he’s like, what? Twenty? I’m not screwin’ someone young enough to be my–” He stops himself before he can finish and knocks back his first drink. Not the right fucking time to be thinking of Cole.

“Yeah, well, some people are into that,” Gavin says with a shrug, and Hank tries his fucking hardest to ignore the visible red flush that creeps onto his neck. “Besides, you might enjoy yourself.”

“I ain’t doing it, Reed. Forget it.”

Gavin groans and throws a slap into his shoulder, “C’mon, Anderson. You’ve been divorced for like three years now, I think you deserve to get laid at least once before you reach impotence.”

“Asshole.”

“Unless you already have?”

“Complete fuckin’ asshole.”

Gavin snorts like the shit-eating bastard he is and opens his mouth to undoubtedly rain on Hank’s parade a little bit more, but then cuts short when he spots something of interest over Hank’s shoulder. Hank’s about to ask what the hell he’s gawping at, but before he can–

“Excuse me?” A voice sounds over his shoulder, a little goofy sounding but a complete godsend compared to Gavin’s annoying mouth, which he’s been subjected to for the majority of the night. Hank turns to address the new presence and feels his brain all but shut down when he sees the brunette in question standing right there in front of him.

Up close, those dark eyes are a gorgeous chocolate brown, and the white shirt he sports beneath the blue jacket has tiny intricate patterns to complete the look. There are little moles and freckles dotted all over his face and he looks just as good here as he had across the room, if not better, and Hank’s mouth is suddenly unignorably dry.

“Sorry to bother you, but I believe you dropped this.” The brunette says, with a pleasant smile, lifting a hand from his side to hold out a piece of folded paper between his thumb and index finger.

Hank frowns down at the white card in his hand, blinking dumbly at it before he lifts his head and tries to remember how to speak again, “I, uh… that isn’t mine.”

Brown eyes just smiles again, not deterring once, “I think it is.”

“No, seriously, I don’t–” Hank begins, but is cut off rather suddenly by the sharp jab to the ribs he gets from Gavin’s elbow. He almost turns to see what the fuck Gavin is playing at but then–

Oh. _Oh._

“Oh.” Hank voices this time, like a true idiot, and hesitantly reaches out to pluck the paper from the kid’s fingers. “Right, yeah. Cheers.”

 _Way to be cool and coherent about it_ , Hank mentally scolds his brain, resisting the urge to quite literally kick himself.

The guy looks anything but put off by it, though, and instead just smiles even wider and nods his head. “No problem. See you around.” He says, cool as a fucking cucumber with that mischievous glint in his eyes, and its Hank’s good opinion that no one that young should be that fucking smooth.

He all but _saunters_ away without a second glance, disappearing back into the crowd of drunken snobs and officers, leaving Hank gawping on the spot with no clue what to do next, until–

“Well?” Gavin chimes from beside him, more eager than Hank’s seen him for a while. “What is it? Is it his number?”

Hank rolls his eyes, tutting his response as he starts to unravel the folded paper, “Don’t be fuckin’ daft. There’s no way the kid gave me his–”

 _Room 318_ , the paper reads back to him.

Gavin all but fucking whistles behind him, “What the fuck. You got his room number?” The bastard howls, loud enough to attract the attention of those standing near enough. “Anderson, you are so gettin’ laid tonight.”

Hank cringes, making a point to avoid making eye contact with anyone who might have heard that, “Would you shut the fuck up? I already told you, it ain’t happenin’.”

“What? Are you kiddin’ me?” Gavin frowns up at him, “Anderson, the guy gave you his room number. If that ain’t a sign he’s interested, then what the fuck is?”

Hank runs a hand down his face in exasperation, feeling the heat of his cheeks from where he is undoubtedly flushed. Of all the people he could have got stuck with when this happened, it had to be Gavin Reed. “Look, it’s been a real long time since I… did somethin’ like that. I dunno if I’ve still got it in me.”

“Then go up there and find out, smartass.” Gavin pries again, looking as exasperated as Hank feels, and when Hank still doesn’t give in, Gavin just throws his arms up and sighs. “Whatever, you do what you want, I ain’t gonna decide for you. But you’re gonna fuckin’ regret it if you let a drink like that just pass on by.”

Gavin snorts at himself, much to Hank’s annoyance, before plucking the second champagne glass from Hank’s grip. “Now, I’m gonna try and find myself someone to share a room with, especially if I can find another one of those anywhere. Let me know if you guys fuck.” He laughs, completely hammered now as far as Hank’s concerned, and stumbles off towards the crowds in search of his own company for the night.

Hank stays put in the corner for a little while longer, rooted to the spot and looking down at the piece of paper he grips between two hands, practically glaring at the neatly scribbled room number that stares back up at him.

There’s no way in hell he can go through with this, right? The guy may have been pretty and all, but Hank’s got his standards. He knows there’s no moral way of having some cheap one-night stand with some twink at least thirty years his junior, at a work’s party that his _boss_ is currently attending, to add. He knows the poor kid has probably just had way too much to drink at the bar and made eyes at the first thing he saw, thinking with his dick rather than his brain.

But Gavin hadn’t been lying. The guy had wanted him enough to saunter over and hand him his fucking room number, and no person who is that drunk can act that fucking smooth and talk with that voice and walk so effortlessly with those hips and that face and–

Hank is a dirty old man. But he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t vaguely interested, and maybe he’s the one thinking with his dick rather than his brain but–

Screw it.

There’re too many things that Hank has been denied through his life, that he’s denied himself. And hell, if he gets up there and the poor kid realises he’s made a mistake or Hank discovers he’s too drunk to be making such an idiotic decision, then Hank will put the poor bastard to bed and leave and never come back to one of these fucking parties ever again. But he’ll find out when he gets up there.

Before he leaves, he goes to the bar and orders a bottle of champagne to take along with him, in the hopes that it will make him seem less like some horny old pervert looking for a shag and more like an interesting guy with actual manners. But even if it doesn’t, it’s just a one-time thing, Hank won’t ever have to know if the hot brunette waiting upstairs for him saw him as anything more than just a quick fuck to relieve some pent-up tension.

The champagne is handed to him across the bar along with two glasses and a knowing wink from the bartender positioned behind it, and Hank grips the bottle tightly and ignores the fucking butterflies in his stomach.

Room 318 it is, then.


End file.
